Human Frailty
by Jainie Starr
Summary: S/B. There are some things even the Slayer can't handle on her own. (Spoilers for "Fool For Love" - Season 5. R for violent imagery, language, angst.)


They sat quietly, exchanging nary a word.The slayer and the master vampire.

Buffy was swaddled in dark, concealing clothes very unlike the more contemporary ones she usually favored.The tears she'd been crying when Spike first arrived had since begun to dry, leaving sticky, salty trails of residue and ruined makeup on her fair cheeks.

He was there to kill her -- at least, that had been the plan.Double barrel shotgun tucked into the folds of his black leather duster, he was anxious to put an end to the dance once and for all.

He imagined it, even as he stomped down the sidewalk leading to her house.Knock on the door, draw her out of the house under the pretense of apologizing to her for his unsolicited advances.The redheaded witch along with her girlfriend and the Watcher had spent the past week tightening the shields around the house, resealing all of the threshold boundaries, although, to what end, they would not say, just that Buffy herself had insisted upon it.

And then, once she'd stepped beyond the protective threshold, Spike would steel himself against the pain that the chip in his brain would inflict on him for aiming the weapon at the slayer.He'd aim and he'd fire.Oh, yes.Watch gleefully as the first barrel took off the top of that bleached blond head of perfect hair -- brains, scalp, fragments of skull and gobs of gray matter splattering against the side of her perfect little house.The second shot would gut her pretty face -- pulverize it.And never again would he dream of her, of her face.At least... that was the idea, anyway.

He could only hope that the satisfaction that comes from a good kill -- one that had been a long time in coming, Spike rationalized -- would replace the pain.

He'd consider himself lucky if the chip didn't short circuit, nuke his brain and turn him into a drooling lump.

Spike had expected her to sneer and taunt him -- a ballsy little chit, even to the end -- tell him he didn't have the brass it'd take to pull the trigger.He'd show her.

As he strode up to the house, grass and autumn dead leaves making a satisfying crunch under his boots as he crossed the lawn, he found her sitting on the steps on the back porch.Well, that was the luring her out bit of the plan crossed off of the list.Spike fought the urge to laugh; she was making this far too easy for him.

He raised the rifle and eased the dual triggers back, gritted his teeth. This was going to be _so_ good.

"What do you want now?" The words were meant to sound venomous and exasperated, Spike knew. 

He'd long since grown accustomed to the way she spoke to him -- as though it was a trying chore, one she'd much rather foist off on some other unfortunate soul.But something about the way she said the words this time sounded all wrong, not at all like he'd thought they would, like he'd hoped they would.Haughty, unimpressed, perhaps, maybe even angry... but not tremulous, broken.

It was then that he saw the moisture on her flushed cheeks, the bruised look of her eyes as they met his.

The one thing he hadn't counted on, the one contingent he hadn't made allowance for... tears.

Spike lowered the rifle."What's wrong?"He wasn't giving up the idea of blowing her head off, just yet.He was just postponing it.He _was _going tokill her; the bitch was just getting a few more breaths in than he'd originally planned on, that was all._That was all._

"I don't wanna talk about it," the slayer's voice was thick with tears and she sniffed weakly, arms tightening around her tiny frame.

He could feel the ire melting away, only to be replaced by -- no!Not sympathy!No!He was _pissed_ -- justifiably so, he thought -- and she was going to die.Treated him like he was 

(( beneath her. ))

Beneath _her_?!

That's what he wanted -- he wanted her _dead_.That's all there was to it.

"Is there something I can do?" 

No reply.Her eyes journeyed away from his, concentrating on some invisible spot on the ground behind and to the left of him.

_Think, pillock, _think_,_ he muttered.His fists tightened around the barrel and the grip of the rifle as he wrestled with his demon.

_Just pull the trigger and end it, boy._Funny how Spike's demon tended to sound a lot like Angelus, at times like this.Impatient, anxious for the _real_ fun to begin._You told her yourself, didn'tcha?They all have a death wish.She wants it... just look at her... what better time than now?Do it now or you'll never get another chance.Do it now!_

_ _

His demon was less than thrilled when Spike moved to sit next to the slayer and set his gun aside; he could hear its futile shrieks of rage in the back of his mind even as he settled down on the top step beside her.

_Some kinda monster you are,_his demon snarled._Some fuckin' vampire!First sight of a few tears and you roll over on your back like a puppy dog, waiting for her to scratch your belly.You are surely somethin', William, lad.Make no mistake._The demon was not at all proud of its host; it was disgraced, disgusted.

Spike pointedly ignored his demon's protests and insults, shoving it, still frantically pleading and persuading, to the dustiest quarters of his mind and locking it away as he reached out his hand and gently placed it on the slayer's back.

He could feel her tense under his hand ever so slightly, confused and horrified despite the softness of his touch.Spike patted her back, fingers curling over her shoulder, palm cupping her back.

They'd fought so many times.This was probably the first time he'd ever touched her without the intention of hurting her.She was so tiny.

She was the slayer.So unlikely a hero.There were so many responsibilities heaped onto her delicate shoulders.She was only 20 years old -- younger than even he, himself, had been at the time of his turning -- and yet she had saved the world on countless occasions.More often than not foiling his own slapdash schemes to kill her or her mates.

Yet, at that moment, she looked every bit as young and naïve as her chronological age suggested she should be.Possibly even a bit younger, if that were possible.Gone was the self-confident, clever, powerful young woman he had come to know.In the warrior's place was a fragile little girl, afraid and unsure of herself and her place in the world.

So tiny.

Spike removed his hand just as carefully as he had placed it there, preparing himself for the slap or punch he felt would surely follow.

Folding his hands between his knees, he gazed at her for several quiet moments, before glancing down at his own hands.

Some Big Bad he was.

His demon saw that as the perfect opportunity to have a laugh -- well, actually, several -- at his expense, then.

A sliver of a breeze blew by, over the two figures on the steps, and Spike realized that Buffy must have been freezing.Winter was on its way and the nights grew increasingly colder as the weeks wore on.Spike and his kind were rarely affected by inclimate weather, and as a result, grew oblivious to its effects on humans as time passed.

"Best get inside, Slayer," he pronounced gruffly."Don't wanna catch cold."

Again, no reply, but he was relieved to see that she had in fact heard him.She pulled herself to her feet, turned and retraced her steps back up to the door leading into the kitchen.

Continuing to ignore his demon's protests and jibes, Spike stood and followed after her.As she crossed the threshold, she turned back to face him, still hugging herself, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes, her own eyes weary, but dry.

Spike extended his hand to touch her cheek, but the threshold boundary deflected his touch, stilling his hand in midair.

Buffy's eyes met his then, panic glimmering in their hazy depths, even as she stepped further back from the door.

Spike squared his jaw as he let his hand drop uselessly to his side, quietly cursing the witch, her children and her children's children.He turned, bent and retrieved his rifle, tromped down the steps and was halfway across the yard...

when she finally spoke.

"Spike."

He stopped at the sound of her voice, turned to see her wraithlike form hovering at the threshold, uncertain, pained.

"Yeah, pet?"

"I think there's still a bag of those little marshmallows in the cabinets somewhere," she offered, tone so measured that he had to almost strain to hear her."Come in."

Spike had to exert a conscious effort to keep his mouth from hanging open.He retraced his steps back to the kitchen door and, leaning the rifle against the door jamb and the side of the house, he stepped inside.

A looming impression of grief and loss hit him like a gust of icy air as he stepped past the threshold, but you didn't have to be empathic or psychic to sense the turmoil swirling around inside the outwardly warm, happy home.As he glanced around the kitchen, peeking into the hallway beyond, there was a distinct sensation of emptiness, of something missing, as with a house from which a large family had just moved.No personal possessions or familial keepsakes scattered about, no furniture, no signs that the house had ever once been a home.And if any house had ever been a home, in Spike's mind, it would have been the Summers'.Not that he really knew much about that sort of thing, himself, mind...

Yes, there was definitely something missing.There was something about the place that felt... wrong.As he took a seat at the island that was the heart of the kitchen, he realized what: no twerpy kid sister knocking about the house and irritating everyone and ... that's what was wrong.

Spike glanced over at Buffy and watched her as she made her way around the kitchen, moving as though she were in slow motion.Retrieving the tin of hot chocolate from the cabinet along with the bag of marshmallows, mugs, spoons from the silverware drawer.

"Slayer," he cleared his throat and spoke up, "where's your mum?She got a show tonight or somethin'?"

The sound of ceramic shattering on the kitchen floor made Spike jump in spite of himself.Immediately, Buffy crouched down, busying herself picking up pieces of the ruined mug.Spike arched an eyebrow, perturbed at her lack of response, but said nothing.

"Slayer?" He slipped off of the stool and maneuvered around the island, to find Buffy huddled against the cabinets, arms folded against her chest, sobbing quietly.

She clutched a piece of the broken mug in her hands, rocking back and forth as she cried, hair falling in a wheat blond curtain around her face as she bowed her head, obscuring it.

"Slayer, now... just stop that," Spike began softly, palm flattening against the center of her back.He could feel her pulse, then, radiating up his arm, like the strike of a hammer against an anvil -- strong and sure and steady.Neither his touch nor his words seemed to reach the anguished young woman and her breathless cries had now acquired sound.Her body trembled with the force of her sobs.

_That's no way to get the girl to stop crying, you silly tit,_ he muttered to himself.It had been such a long time since he'd actually attempted to console a fellow human being, he'd quite simply forgotten how.Of course, he'd soothed Dru during her frequent fits of maniacal melancholy, but the tactics he'd employed with Dru would only serve to upset the girl more, at this rate.

Spike sat back for a moment and tried to remember what people did when someone they cared about was crying.Nice!Be nice... say 'please'...

He leaned in, carefully smoothed her mussed hair out of her face."_Please _stop that?" Spike asked, voice gentling.He was relieved when Buffy straightened slightly, sniffling, fingertips clumsily wiping at her eyes.

"What's wrong?Please, tell me.What did I say?"

_You're startin' to sound a bit like the Poof, there, lad._

Shut your gob.Nobody asked you, Spike snarled back at his demon.

Still, not a peep out of the girl.Spike sighed noiselessly, settling back on his haunches as he ran through the things he'd said since he'd arrived at the house.There wasn't much.

Porch: "What's wrong?Is there anything I can do?"

Then, silence for several minutes... Buffy inviting him into the kitchen... marshmallows... empty feeling... no brat sister, no Joyce to make him his hot chocolate... 

Joyce.Joyce!

"Your mum," he spoke again, the very sound of his whispering voice amidst the eerie quiet permeating the house enough to make him cringe."Something's happened to Joyce?"

At the mere mention of her mother's name, Buffy's tears started afresh, crushing down on her even more harshly than before, snatching her breath from her lungs as she buried her face in her hands, body slowly beginning to rock once more.

"Oh, no, no," Spike groaned, "please, don't start that again!I'm beggin' you!C'mere, pet, c'mere," he wrapped his arms around her, carefully drawing her into his embrace, giving her every opportunity to pull away, should she want to.Tentatively, she let him pull her up into his lap as he leaned back against the island."Now, talk to me.Tell me what's the matter."

"No, I don't wanna talk about it."No sooner than he'd gotten her settled, Buffy wrestled away from him, retaking her crouched position against the cabinets across from him, glaring at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.She spoke brusquely, enunciating every word with deadly precision.She hated that she'd cried -- and to cry in front of _him_, of all people? -- well, that was even worse."I shouldn't have even let you in here.I think it would be better if you just left."

"Alright, so you're the big bad," Spike ground out as he stood, eyes boring into hers, fists planted on his narrow hips.

Even in her condition, she still met his eyes -- crouched on the floor, she refused to let him win.Anyone else would have cringed or averted his gaze, but not her.Never her.Oh, but she was brave.Brave and _willful_.Even now, he could almost see the wheels turning -- she was trying to remember the where she'd stashed the stakes throughout the kitchen, which hidey hole was nearest; calculating the distance and penciling in the defensive moves she'd use, just in case he decided to try to stop her.

He tamped a surge of pride down and continued.

"Just look at you: all huddled up in your mournin' clothes, cryin' and trying to pretend that everything's just dandy.That mask works for some people and you might think it's what keeps you safe, but lemme tell you: you're not doin' anything but pushing everybody away.You're keepin' everybody away, people that might could help you, if you'd just let them.You're not foolin' anybody but you."

"What would you know about it?" She snapped even as her arms wound around her body again.

"Plenty, kitten," he replied, his words strained but soft."So... fine.Fine!Tell me to fuck off!Throw an eppy, toss me out the house and have your witch undo my invite again." He dropped to one knee in front of her, both palms flat on the linoleum, midnight blue eyes staring her through, silently forbidding her to look away.His voice was hard but earnest, "But I won't let you hide from me anymore."

"What do you _want_ from me, Spike?_What_?!Can't you just... leave me alone?"Buffy buried her face in her hands with a choked sob, fingers threaded through her hair, grasping it ruthlessly tight.The little girl was back again.

Spike cursed a blue streak as he pulled her into his arms again, touch tender, as though she was made of crystal.It was all he could do to keep from crowing loudly in triumph when she finally relented and allowed herself to be cradled in his arms, her head nestling in the hollow of his throat, neatly tucked under his chin.

Several moments passed and neither of them said a word; the silence was ungainly.Spike rocked her back and forth, slowly, smoothing her hair out of her face, reverently caressing the silky locks as a low, steady purr rumbled forth from his throat.It was a warm, conciliatory sound, meant to soothe and reassure, yet was possessed of longing, bittersweet undertones -- ones that only another vampire would ever be able to distinguish -- the pain within him was still too fresh to shrug off just yet.Spike felt her wriggle in his embrace a bit at first, no doubt thinking he was attempting to put the bite on her, but she was soon still again, her tiny hand coming to rest in the center of his chest. 

"Just tell me, kitten," he said softly."That's all I want.What's wrong?"His fingers combed through her hair idly, soothing, as his lips brushed lightly against her temple.

"My ... my mom," Buffy's breath hitched in her throat as she tried to get a handle on the emotions roiling within her."My mom has been s-sick... the past couple of weeks."She looked up at Spike, met his eyes hesitantly, then continued, "She's been real -- real woozy.She was fixing breakfast for Dawny and... she just... fell over.The doctors didn't know what was wrong, but tonight," the slayer's eyes brimmed with new tears, "tonight, she said she was going in for a CAT scan.That -- that the nothing that she's been having problems with for the past couple of weeks isn't... it isn't just nothing."

Spike couldn't tell her that everything was going to be okay.He hadn't the faintest idea what was going to happen to her mother and didn't want to give the anguished young woman false hope, only for it to be dashed away.Even as her cruel words echoed in his mind, mocking him, he couldn't bring himself to be cruel to her in turn.She deserved it, his demon assured him of that, but the demon relented when Spike refused to acknowledge its spiteful whispers.

He'd done things that would give the boogeyman night terrors for months ... and yet, he still didn't have the heart to lie to her.

"Well, no wonder you're worried, luv.She's your mummy; she's ill and you're scared you're going to lose her.It's only natural."

"I'm not a baby," she replied petulantly, lower lip poking out a bit and effectively nullifying her protests.

"What, even Attila the Hun had a mum!I had a mum, once, too, believe it or not."At her look, he chuckled, "Well, I did."

"It's so weird... thinking _you_ had a mom," she laughed softly, balled up fist rubbing the tears out of her right eye."So... you don't think I'm the mother of all wimps?"

"Slayer, you dropped a bloody organ on me, once.A wimp you most definitely are _not_."Spike cupped her face in his hands and smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead."You've saved the world a thousand times over --you're stronger than sometimes even you realize, you've just gotta learn to trust it -- I think you've earned yourself a good, justified cry every now and again."

Buffy rested her head on his shoulder, then, loosing a deep, cleansing sigh, as Spike's hand smoothed slow, calming circles between her shoulder blades.

"Better, now?"

"Yeah, much," she sat back a bit, Spike's arms sliding around her waist as she wiped at her cheeks and her eyes."Never thought I'd say this... but thanks."She smiled -- the first genuine smile he had ever seen directed at him."So... how about that hot chocolate?"

"Oh, luv, you know I could never pass up those little marshmallows."

*End*


End file.
